


On a Whim

by Moreena



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Infidelity, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Oral Sex, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-30 01:37:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8513710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moreena/pseuds/Moreena
Summary: One day, Quatre breaks their carefully crafted routine.  That one day throws him for a loop.  He breaks the routine a second time, to learn the hard way that things aren't perfect in his happy, closed off world with Heero.  It will take drastic measures to heal what's been broken.*Tagged graphic violence for partner abuse, to avoid triggers for people.  Not actually that graphic*





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tagged graphic violence for the sake of not triggering people.
> 
> Implied self harm for how Quatre reacts/handles himself in the time that follows.
> 
> Verbal and psychological abuse mentioned, because of implied mental illness.
> 
> Please, if you are a victim, you are not alone, help is out there.
> 
> Story is pure self indulgence. I wanted to write Quatre falling for Trowa after being cheated on, and I didn't expect THIS to come from that idea.

They were creatures of habit. That was the best way that Quatre could describe it. Oh, he didn’t mind suddenly being asked out to lunch while at work, or accepting an offer of drinks with some of his friends every now and then. But ninety percent of the time, he had a rigid habit he followed. One could almost say that it bordered on an obsessive-compulsive level, his need to keep to things. Up at six every morning to work out in his home gym, in the shower at seven am, dressed and eating breakfast by seven thirty, then out the door and on his way to work by eight am. Work, leaving the office at six, dinner at seven, then either TV or reading until it was time for him to sleep, usually by ten pm.

Some called it a meager existence. Others called it dependence. Still, there were others who called it manipulation. Abuse. Control.

It wasn’t Quatre’s choice to have such a rigid schedule. No, he much more preferred the morning routine, knowing it kept him healthy and in shape. It was the after work portion that bothered him. And why had he let it get this far? How had he let it get this far? It had been a gradual secession of his own routine and voice. So slowly that he’d never even noticed it at first, he’d been cajoled into changing how he managed his daily life. Simple requests that he’d been more than happy to comply with.

‘Why don’t you leave work at six? We can have dinner together?’

‘Let’s just watch tv. Or read. We deserve a quiet night in.’

Quatre couldn’t recall the last time he’d skipped dinner at home to socialize with any of his friends, pre-war or post war. Before he’d gotten involved, there were nights that Quatre didn’t even make it home; more than content to crash on a friend’s couch after a night of too many drinks and too much fun. The fun pushed away the darker paths his mind could wander every now and then. Now, even the slightest deviation of his routine caused chaos that he didn’t want to face. 

But his heart was too enormous, too giving. When Heero asked him to do those little things, encroaching onto Quatre’s lifestyle, Quatre had only seen it as Heero trying to establish a relationship, to set something up that stood unwavering in the face of the chaos of the world. Never would he have imagined it as a ploy to control and manipulate him, dragging him away from his friends and family, until he was a shell of who he’d been in the past. Quatre had willingly given himself to Heero, out of love, and hope. Hope that by giving those little pieces of himself that Heero would love him back, would deal out little pieces of himself for Quatre to latch onto and collect, to form a bond that had never fully existed.

Heero thrived on routine, like the staunchest military man. When there was no routine, he floundered, like a newborn foal, unable to gain footing. Quatre’s lack of routine had disturbed him so much that it was the first thing Heero worked to improve on when they began dating, from specific date nights during the week, even going as far as to schedule sex. Blinded by his blossoming affection and feelings for the dark-haired man, Quatre hadn’t even batted an eye, or even realized what Heero was doing. And by the time he had, it had been too late. He’d learned the difficult way what happened when the routine was upset.

It had happened by accident. Quatre had been waiting on a phone call from another company to finalize a deal. So, he’d ordered dinner to his office, and got a jump on paperwork while he’d waited. The call had come in around eight, and had taken an hour to work through details. But both parties hung up satisfied, and Quatre had managed to get all of his work for the next day done, which meant he could spend it relaxing, getting a jump on the weekend. When he walked into the apartment he and Heero shared, he was humming to himself, dropping his briefcase and coat on a kitchen chair. He was about to call out to Heero, figuring he was still awake when he was forcibly grabbed by the arm, fingers curling into his flesh hard enough to leave bruises.

“You’re late,” Heero had hissed, face an empty, dark mask.

It was like looking back into the perfect soldier from the war all over again, and it made Quatre’s heart freeze in fear. He didn’t know what to say, even if he could have spoken. He was afraid, and found his stomach in his throat, fingers numb with shock. Part of him braced for a blow. A slap to the face, a punch to the gut. Physical violence would have almost been welcome at that point, compared to what followed.

Heero’s grip had remained vice-like on his upper arm as he dragged the blonde through their apartment to their bedroom. The room had been set up for the night. A few candles scattered on the dresser and a bottle of lubricant on the side table, the comforter turned down to reveal crisp sheets. Quatre had forgotten? Oh he’d forgotten that it was Thursday night, and what went along with that.

“I’m sorry Heero. It was an important business call. I had to take it,” Quatre stammered, his voice nervous, an octave higher, making his excuse sound paltry.

“It doesn’t matter now, does it?”

Heero’s voice was cold, a few steps shy of murderous. Pushing Quatre into the room and onto the bed, he stood in front of him, arms folded across his muscular chest, glaring down at him like Quatre had blown apart an entire universe. His brain fumbled for something to say, to try and apologize again or anything that could placate the obviously angry man in front of him.

“I don’t ask for much Quatre. I really don’t,” he said, voice laced with controlled anger. “But clearly the little I do ask for is just too much for you to give me.”

“I... No! Heero it’s not- “

Heero cut him off with another warning glare, and Quatre bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep his mouth shut. He bit down until his mouth filled with blood, the coppery tang a welcome distraction from his spiraling thoughts.

“Let’s just see how you like it when the routine is thrown off,” Heero continued, turning on his heel and walking out of the room, slamming the door behind himself.

Too shocked to get up off the bed and follow, Quatre sat there, his hands in his lap, aquamarine gaze on the door. He wouldn’t cry, and he curled his hands into fists, nails digging into his palms almost hard enough to draw blood. The sound of the apartment door slamming had him inhaling a shaky breath, willing his heart to slow its rapid beat. He was afraid it would beat so hard it would burst through his chest. Time seemed to leap forward and crawl along at a glacial pace as he sat on their bed, looking around, turning things over in his mind. What had he done wrong? Heero knew that sometimes business couldn’t wait, didn’t he? Quatre never complained when Heero’s work took more of him than expected. Shouldn’t the brunette give him the same courtesy?

Vowing to himself that he’d fix things as soon as Heero returned, Quatre set about busying himself. He showered in water almost too hot to stand, his skin tinged an almost sunburnt red from the scalding water. He put away his jacket and briefcase, the uneaten dinner was put away and the dishes loaded into the dishwasher. When the apartment was spotless, he returned to the bedroom, lighting the lamp on his side, carefully extinguishing the candles just in case he fell asleep. Curling under the blankets, he rested against the headboard, his mind still whirling and turning things over and over, trying to piece together something that made sense for the outburst. 

Heero had never acted like that before, at least with him. No, with Quatre, Heero had always been almost gentle. He knew when to be harsh with his words, but only to help motivate the blonde. Hell, they all knew how to be harsh to one another. It had been war, and sometimes they were the only thing that kept one another going. But this? This was something Quatre had never seen, and part of him had to admit that he was afraid. It had been the cold, impersonal way that Heero had looked at him, like he didn’t matter. And the threat of violence at the other’s hands. Yes, Quatre had been stabbed. He’d been tortured, but that had been what felt like eons ago. Truthfully, he didn’t know if he could tolerate it, or fight back if it came to that. That was what made him afraid.

He’d stayed in their bed, on his side, waiting with nervous tension thrumming through him until the early hint of pre-dawn light told him what he’d suspected when Heero had left. He wasn’t coming home that night. Exhaustion won out, and Quatre fell asleep, propped against the headboard of the bed, the light a soft glow that offered little comfort to his frayed nerves. 

His alarm went off at six, like every other work day. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he pushed past the urge to remain in bed. Moping wouldn’t help, wouldn’t put things to rights, even if his four hours of broken sleep were the perfect excuse to burrow deeper under the covers. No, he went through the motions of his day, working out, showering, eating. He didn’t have any work to do, but again… He didn’t want to do anything else to anger his lover. No, he wanted to mend things, not drive the wedge deeper than it already was. Quatre made breakfast, leaving a plate out for Heero in case he came home, before he left for work, hiding in his office so he didn’t have to explain the bags under his eyes, or the tense set of his shoulders. When he got home that night, Heero was there, and nothing was spoken about the night before, so Quatre didn’t bring it up either, and they let the incident die out.

 

Even knowing what would happen if Quatre upset the carefully carved out routine, he didn’t know what possessed him to do it again. Perhaps the return to normal had made him forgetful. Maybe he thought that a year was enough time for things to have eased. And he wanted to do something special. Wanted to surprise Heero, in a good way. Maybe make him dinner, have a warm bath for two drawn when the other man came back from work. 

Quatre would blame his day dreaming for the reasons he’d missed the obvious signs. The jacket on the table, the feeling of someone else being in the apartment. When a room was truly empty, with just you in it, there was a sort of hushed quiet that just soaked into your skin; that told you it was safe, and you didn’t need to worry. No, the apartment had been abuzz with energy that Quatre had missed. His first step was to change out of his restrictive suit. Hand loosening the knot on his tie, he pushed open the door to his bedroom, which should have been another red flag. When he had a clear view, his body froze. Heero lay there, on their bed, legs spread as another man pounded into him.

“H-Heero…?” Quatre asked, voice thick with emotion.

Both men turned to look at the interloper, Heero’s cobalt eyes locked on Quatre’s desperate face, while the man fucking him simply turned his attention back to Heero’s body, his hips never stilling. No, he kept fucking Quatre’s lover into the mattress.

“Since that night, last year,” Heero offered up, a moan falling from his lips as the man seemed to hit that right spot.

He’d answered the question that Quatre had wanted to voice. How long… The why was obvious. Revenge. Quatre had broken the routine, so Heero had decided to break him. It had just taken Quatre this long to realize it, since he’d fallen back into line instantly, and had never questioned anything. Had fought the urge to rock the boat when Heero seemed to have a new routine. Now it all added up, it all made sense, and Quatre wanted to vomit. There were a million things he wanted to do, seeing his world shattered into dust.

Heero’s gaze never faltered away from Quatre’s face, until Quatre had backed into the hallway and turned away. He was running. Running from the truth, the pain. It wrapped itself around him like a thick fog, choking him. Quatre was drowning, as he blindly grabbed the keys to his car and fled the apartment. His actions were a blur, as he slid into the driver’s seat of his car, pulling out of the building’s garage. He drove, choking back his emotion. As distraught as he was, a car accident wasn’t what he needed right now. Habit took him back to WEI, and he ignored everyone he walked past, not even acknowledging his secretary as he practically ran past her desk.

Slamming his office door shut, he locked it and slumped back against it, skull thumping against the solid wood a few times, thinking that maybe the physical pain would snap him out of the nightmare he was experiencing. But it didn’t work, and he collapsed, back pressed to the door as if it could defend him from the world. Hadn’t he given everything? Given Heero a place to live? Shelter from the world, in his arms? Given Heero every ounce of himself, and drowned the real Quatre? Hadn’t he done anything and everything asked of him by a man he’d trusted and loved?

It was a bitter pill to swallow past the lump in his throat. But he did it, choking on the sob as it escaped his lips. The first one broke the dam, and he sat against the door, his lithe frame shaking with every inhale and exhale, tears rolling out of his eyes and down his cheeks in a hot torrent. Shoving his head between his knees in an attempt to stave off hyperventilating, his body rocked back and forth. He was well and truly alone in that moment. Giving up himself for Heero had made him drift away from his friends, his colleagues, leaving him utterly dependent on Heero, and even that. That was gone, scattered like brittle leaves in a strong wind. Sitting on the carpet in his dark office, sobbing and quaking with emotion, Quatre came to a realization.

He was utterly alone in the world.

Time didn’t seem to exist as he laid there on the carpet in his office, eyes swollen and red from crying, his sobs finally abating until he was just breathing. Each breath only drowned him in more sorrow, more loss. It hurt, like having his chest opened and someone scraping his insides clean out like they were gutting a pumpkin. The sky was dark, the lights of the city letting him know that he’d been on the floor for hours, while his world had crumbled around him. Sitting up, he pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes, trying to ease the stinging pain that accompanied crying for hours. Now that the first onslaught of emotions had passed, his head was a little clearer. He had to push aside his misery, be decisive about things. He had to be the Quatre that would have helped someone in his current position. Though thinking about it like that made his head spin, and sounded a little like having an alternate personality.

His legs weak from being curled under him, he stumbled across his office, biting his tongue to ignore the pins and needles from his right leg, half dragging it along behind him until he collapsed into his desk chair, head falling back against the leather, allowing himself a moment to try and appear composed. He turned on the desk lamp, blinking rapidly at the sudden change in light. When his pupils stopped contracting, and had mostly settled, he rolled his shoulders and turned the screen of his vidphone to face him, carefully dialing out a number he hadn’t called in over a year. It rang three times before it was picked up, a familiar hulking figure filling the screen.

“Master Quatre?”

His voice was soft, almost as if he didn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Hello Rashid…” He fumbled for the words, but knew, just from the concern on the older man’s face that no matter his request, despite the time apart, it would be fulfilled. “It’s time for me to come home,” Quatre whispered, giving a half-hearted smile.

 

It was all handled with little fanfare, or so it came across to Quatre. Rashid had promised he would come down to Earth, and help Quatre settle things. Quatre had checked into a hotel to wait the two days it would take his friend to travel down from the colony. So he’d stayed locked in his room, checked in under a false name. Had anyone wanted to find him, it’d have been easy. Checking in under a false name was one thing, but paying with a Winner card wasn’t as easy to hide. A first-year OZ cadet could have found Quatre without even trying. Part of him, deep down was hoping that Heero would show up. Would come to find him, and try to set things right. But it didn’t happen, and Quatre had tried to not lose sleep over it. If he’d been able to sleep for anything longer than an hour at a time.

Rashid knocked on his door at eleven in the morning and enclosed him in a hug that seemed to say so many things. That the larger man missed him, that he was grateful for the call. That he’d do whatever Quatre asked of him, even if it meant going up against the deadliest person on the planet, in some warped form of avenging the blonde. Quatre allowed himself to sink into the hug, almost desperate for any scrap of affection thrown his way. When was the last time Heero had touched him, outside of their scheduled sex? For the life of him, he couldn’t recall, and it was just another bitter pill that he needed to swallow, to keep down until he had time to sort everything apart. When Quatre had basked enough in the attention, he pulled away, brushing the back of his hand across his eyes to dispel the tears that had gathered there.

“Let me grab my things, and we can do what needs to be done,” Quatre said, moving back into the room to grab a small duffle that contained clothes and the most basic toiletries.

He hadn’t wanted to set foot in the apartment alone, so he’d bought himself a pair of jeans and two shirts to get through waiting on Rashid. The pair piled into one of WEI’s town cars and drove back across the city, to the apartment building. They hadn’t wanted a confrontation, so they’d planned their trip when Quatre knew Heero would be gone at work. A small crew of Rashid’s men met them at the building, confirming that Heero was gone, and they followed Quatre upstairs and inside.

He didn’t want any of it. He left the furniture, the artwork. Even the framed Monet. It had spoken to him, and he’d bought a high-quality replica, the bridge a soft white, the water lilies luring him into an almost zen-like state whenever he stopped to admire it for more than a passing second. He went through each room methodically, pulling off things from shelves and handing them to someone who packed them away carefully into boxes. They were small things, little knick-knacks he’d gotten over the years from the other pilots, from Cathy, from Relena. Things he didn’t want to part from, even though seeing them would also bring up memories of Heero.

The office was just as hard. His entire desk, contents and all. He left the shelves of books, only taking a single, worn hard-cover book from the shelf, thumb rubbing over the spine briefly. Heero’s desk was in here as well. The expensive computer set up, enough to make any government drool. Heero had built it piece by piece, and all Quatre wanted to do what shove it off the other’s desk in a fit of childish rage and jump up and down on it until all the components were dust. But he stepped away, turning his back to the desk as he fled the room, forcing himself to be strong. The bathroom was quick. Why had he saved the bedroom for last?

Pushing open the door, his heart leapt into his throat again. The roiling wave of emotions was strong enough to make him stagger, catching himself on the doorway. The bed was made, pristine enough to bounce a coin off of it. It was like nothing had ever happened. Quatre wasn’t sure if that bothered him or not. The memories were painful…

The pair of them lying in bed after making love, Quatre wrapped around Heero, clinging to him like a starfish, their voices a soft whisper as they discussed all manner of things, from future plans to the past.

Quatre adjusting the tie Heero was wearing, smoothing it against the shirt and settling the tuxedo jacket so it lay flat on the other’s shoulders, explaining that he was grateful for Heero agreeing to accompany him to this government dinner, for adjusting their usual schedule, Heero simply nodding and saying that there had been enough notice to not make it a big deal.

The time Heero came home to find Quatre face down on the bed, screaming his frustrations of the day into the pillows. He’d cursed everyone and everything in that moment, hating what he’d had to do, what he’d become just to stay alive in the business world. Heero had pulled him up from the pillows and had been rough with him. Had fucked Quatre until everything else was forgotten, Heero’s name the only thing being screamed from Quatre’s lush lips.

Shaking his head, he pushed away the memories. They were nothing but cold comfort. He grabbed a picture out of his side table, along with the charger for his phone, handing them off to be put into a bag that he’d take on the shuttle with him. He pulled open the closet door, indicating which half was his, watching with feigned interest as his clothing was bagged up and boxed up with military precision, leaving half the closet bare, still filled with Heero’s things. Satisfied that there was nothing left in the place that he wanted, he stepped back into the living room, watching Rashid as he finished a phone conversation then hung up.

“The lease has been transferred over to one Heero Yuy, leaving you free from obligation. The Jaguar at the hotel has already been picked up and returned to WEI’s office here on Earth.”

“Thank you Rashid. I’d be lost without you right now,” Quatre admitted, watching as his life was wheeled away in boxes.

“You’ll make it through Master Quatre. You’re strong, and you’ll come out a better man for all that’s happened.”

Quatre forced out a smile, knowing that he was still too raw-edged for it to reach his eyes. But it was the effort that mattered. Taking one last look around, he slipped the key for the apartment off his keychain and placed it on the kitchen table, right at Heero’s place setting. He didn’t leave a note. The simple act of leaving the small piece of metal would tell Heero all that he needed to know. That they were well and truly over. And that Quatre might never forgive him for what had happened.


	2. Chapter 2

Transitioning his office from Earth to L4 hadn’t been that much of a challenge. Quatre was eternally grateful that his company could be self-sufficient sometimes and didn’t always need him directing every movement. The two-week reprieve allowed him time to settle into the apartment that Rashid had found for him. It was nothing like his last apartment. It was modern, filled with sharp lines and much more his aesthetic. He had new artwork, that spoke to him. None of Heero’s ‘that piece matches well with the colors in the living room,’ fluff. The artwork ranged from vintage posters in custom frames to classical artwork, all of it hung throughout the apartment to give it a more lived in look. His favorite piece was the replica of van Gogh’s ‘Starry Night’ that rested on the dark grey wall of his bedroom, right above his bed. That piece Quatre had been proud to hang.

Thoughts of Heero always hit him hard, like a sledgehammer to the chest. Made it hard to breathe, and hard to focus. There had been nothing from the brunette. It was like he’d never even needed Quatre in his life. Quatre was gone, and Heero didn’t care. Just rolled his life into a new routine with a new partner and forgot about the four years he and Quatre had been together. Oh, if only it were so simple for Quatre.

Alone in his apartment, and at night when he tried to sleep were the worst times for him. His mind raced and writhed. Turned over every interaction, every word they’d ever spoken. Trying to find an inkling, to see if Heero had slipped earlier. No matter how desperately he ransacked his mind, every time he surfaced, he was still lost, with no clue. Then he was afraid to sleep. Afraid of what would happen if he allowed himself to relax enough to dream. Would It be nightmares? Would it be memories of happier times with Heero? He was afraid to let it go there, so he napped fitfully on his couch every night, with the lights on because life wasn’t as scary in the daytime.

As much as Quatre hated it, he’d kept up with some of the routine that Heero had instilled in him. It was only the morning. Up at six, working out, showering. It was for the best that he kept it, because it had kept him in shape, his smaller frame corded with muscles proportionate to his body. He looked good, at least in that respect. He worked until he wanted, locking himself in his office til the sky outside was black, dotted with stars and city lights. Other days he was gone, out of the office before late afternoon, enjoying a late lunch with Rashid, or Relena if she happened to be in town.

Even with his slowly re-emerging lifestyle, Quatre knew he was still grieving, still adrift in his own head and floundering. He and Heero had been together for three years. Three years of living together, of dating, and slowly giving up every piece of himself. He mourned for everything that he’d given up, for things that he didn’t know the outcome of, because he’d given himself up. The love and time he’d wasted on Heero… And, he hated himself for having been so blind that he’d never noticed. He was supposed to be a tactician, a strategist. All he’d done was miss Heero’s tells and play right into his own hands, blinded by emotions.

If Relena or Rashid noticed how down Quatre was, or how he was beating himself up internally, neither one of them said anything. They both knew that sometimes, letting the pain take over while you went through your daily motions was the only way to deal with it. Sometimes moving on meant putting things into compartments and hoping they’d work themselves out. Time would never heal all wounds, but it would help lessen them. You had to heal yourself. Each day was a small step away from the pain, and a step closer to moving on.

Quatre knew he would eventually heal, but it just seemed to be too monumental at the moment. He could barely sleep, too afraid of his dreams, or nightmares. He tried to eat, but some days it was just so easy to not even bother. Quatre knew he was neglecting himself, knew he wasn’t being completely healthy with his coping. But what was he supposed to do? Talk to Rashid? Relena? Both were busy, leading their own lives. Logically, he knew that they’d make time for him. Would be more than willing to sit with him, to listen. Offer practical advice, if he asked. But he wouldn’t. He was too stubborn, too determined to keep things in, to handle his own issues. He was too proud to ask for the help that he knew was there.

In laymen’s terms, he was fucked. He didn’t want to get help though he knew he needed it. He knew he needed to take care of himself, but some days it was just so hard to do. So he threw himself into his work. He expanded WEI, added divisions, added revenue, made the company’s name even bigger, if that was possible. As a friend of Relena, and with the Winner name being well-spoken amongst the pacifists, he added charity work to his plate. Attending galas or other fundraising events, appearing at the ESUN along-side Relena to fight uphill battles. Quatre threw himself into it all. It gave him a perfect excuse for the bags that seemed to be permanently etched onto his face under his tired aqua eyes. It gave him a reason for missing meals now and then, since he was so busy juggling his new hats, when he had to explain the way his suits fit a little big on him, and why his muscle tone started to suffer. He was still strong, but he’d lost the definition he’d worked so hard to keep up with after the war.

When Une called him, asking for a consult for the Preventers, Quatre dove headfirst into that as well, because it was something else to do. Wufei was the only one of them just after the war to join the agency, the rest of them busy with other plans for the moment, though Une could call on them in a time of need. Helping Preventers now and then was another excuse for him to rarely use his apartment, to avoid trying to sleep for periods longer than four hours. He was just thankful that Wufei hadn’t seen him yet, or he was pretty sure that there would be hell to pay. He’d send Quatre to Sally, and that was a talk he didn’t want to have.

This time, Une needed him for a small mission. Nothing elaborate, just getting a bit of intel out of someone. Someone who knew the Winner name, and was wealthy enough to run in the same circle, in a manner of speaking. He’d been fitted with a recording device, and was on a shuttle, heading for L1 for the meeting. He’d be gone for a few days, and sort of relished the break from WEI and the politics. While he was enjoying being useful, it was starting to wear on him a bit. Or maybe it was the borderline sleep deprivation he was subjecting himself to, making him cranky, and sometimes forgetful. Either way, this little excursion was welcome, and he settled back into his seat, sighing and closing his eyes, planning to just rest, maybe doze a bit for the shuttle ride. He’d deal with things after he’d gotten was Preventers needed.

 

While Quatre was on a shuttle heading for L1, Rashid was on a shuttle himself, planning to take matters into his own hands. He’d noticed the way Quatre had been. His lack of appetite, his irregular and unhealthy sleeping habits. While the young blonde had stood proudly despite the betrayal his heart had borne, Rashid knew he was still shattered. He wasn’t trying to piece himself back together. That was something that needed to change. It had been several months, and he couldn’t watch Quatre waste away until he was nothing but a husk. He’d snuck around behind Quatre and made a call. While the person he’d called had been unable to help, currently in the middle of his own crisis, he had told Rashid who would be the best person to help, and where to find them. He hadn’t bothered to call ahead, hoping that showing up unannounced would convey the gravity of the situation.

He arrived on L3, sighing heavily. Truly, he didn’t want to do this, but nothing he said or did seemed to have any effect on Quatre. Perhaps a friend would be better, would be able to make the young man see reason and start healing. Since he was here without informing anyone, he rented a car and drove himself out to the circus. He bought a ticket and settled himself in the middle of the crowds, dressed in plain slacks and a blue button down shirt. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself. Folding his arms across his chest, he sat back to watch the show, only leaning forward when he recognized the man he was here to see.

Trowa had grown in the years since Rashid had last seen him. He was taller, his body more defined with muscle. But he still possessed that sharp gaze. Rashid could almost feel the man locking eyes on him for the briefest of seconds before he continued on with his routine. Rashid watched carefully, aware that the boy’s nerves were still good, as he stood still, watching as he simply waited for the knives to be thrown at him. It gave Rashid hope that Trowa might be able to be a rock for Quatre, if he’d agree to help.

When the show was over, Rashid let most of the crowd exit around him, giving himself time to steel his nerves. As hard as it was, he wasn’t above begging, if it meant that the brunette would help. He made his way around the grounds, back to where the trailers and trucks were parked. Rashid didn’t know which trailer he needed, but he’d wait. If he was right and Trowa had seen him, he’d come. A young woman with reddish-brown hair approached him. She had been the one throwing the knives, and Rashid vaguely recalled Quatre mentioning that Trowa had a sister.

“You’re Master Trowa’s sister, are you not?” He asked, giving a little bow at the waist out of respect for her.

She laughed at him, extending her hand. “I’m Catherine. Trowa said he saw you, and that I should find you and bring you back to the trailer while he finishes up with the lions.”

“Please lead on. Unfortunately, my visit is not exactly a happy one, and I have much to discuss with Trowa, and if your reputation precedes you as well as my memory recalls, you’ll want to be a part of it too.”

Her face went serious, lips pursing into a thin line, but only for a moment.

“I’d prefer it that way, especially if it means Trowa is going to be involved,” she finally admitted, turning around, gesturing for Rashid to follow after her.

The trailer was fairly large, with enough space for two people to live comfortably. It was clear they shared the space as Rashid looked around, trying not to be overly curious. Catherine busied herself making tea, hair bouncing around her shoulders as she moved.

“You don’t have to tell me, but I have to ask. Why are you here?”

Rashid inhaled deeply, sighing.

“I don’t want to have to retell my tale twice. But I can tell you that Master Quatre needs help. At this point, I’m desperate. Duo cannot help, Wufei is unavailable.”

Cathy sensed that there was something he wasn’t saying, since he hadn’t brought up Heero’s name. Still, it wasn’t her place to pry just yet. But for the large man to look so nervous, so wary… It had to be serious. Even more serious if he’d come all the way here to seek Trowa for help, without calling before arriving. She had just set three cups on the table when the door opened and Trowa walked in, dressed in jeans and a comfortable looking t-shirt. Rashid stood, a small grin on his face.

“It’s been a long time Rashid,” Trowa said, reaching a hand out.

“Too long Master Trowa,” he said, shaking hands with the other man before he sat back down. “I apologize for showing up unannounced like this,” he finished.

Trowa took a seat next to Cathy, fingers curling around the mug automatically for something to do with his hands, eyes sliding automatically to the Arab man.

“This isn’t a social visit. What’s happened?”

Rashid knew that he could count on Trowa to want to get right into it, and be unbiased. Yes, he’d become more human, less of that cool mask of indifference that Rashid remembered, but he could still have a clear head, a skill that Rashid needed now, more than ever.

“It’s about Master Quatre. He needs help.” He held up his hand when he saw Trowa make a move to rise from the table. “It’s nothing immediately life threatening. I would have called to expedite this, if he was in that much danger.”

Trowa sat back down, nodding solemnly. Despite the pair going their separate ways, Trowa still cared for the blonde boy. Quatre had done so much for him. Had helped him find himself, had trusted him without even knowing who he was. As Cathy would say, Trowa still harbored some feelings for Quatre, though she couldn’t tell what kind, or how deep they went. Even if it was nothing more than brotherly camaraderie, the emotions were still there, deep within Trowa’s mind and heart. Of course, she suspected there was more to it than that, but she kept her speculations to herself.

“I don’t know how much contact you’ve had with the other pilots over the years. But I’ll give you the condensed version of things. After the Mariemaia incident was taken care of, Quatre returned to WEI to run the company. He’d offered you all a place to stay, to recover if any of you wanted it. Duo, Wufei, and yourself all had other obligations and returned to those. Heero did not, and took Quatre’s offer. The boy needed time to rest, to recuperate both mentally and physically. I returned to L4 to oversee things with the Maganac Corp, while Quatre remained on Earth with Heero, at one of the estates.”

Here, he paused to take a sip of his tea, not wanting to offend Cathy. He could see her fidget slightly, eyes shifting from Trowa, back to Rashid, wondering where this was going. But her face was set in a worried mask. She like Quatre well enough. Once things had settled, she’d grown fond of him, after they’d hashed out their differences. Because he was Trowa’s friend, she treated him like a brother as well. Not that the blonde needed another sister.

“I don’t know how it happened, but Quatre and Heero became close. They became involved in a relationship. I do not fault them for finding happiness, at the time. I fault them for what happened afterward. Heero left the estate when he was ready, and Quatre took an apartment so he could run WEI from the office. Eventually, they got an apartment together. I do not know whose idea it was, or which of them started down this path. But eventually the relationship began to sour. Quatre was on a strict schedule, and did not travel, even if business required it. My understanding is that it was done to keep Heero happy. We all know how selfless and sacrificing Quatre is.”

A round of nods followed, Rashid taking a moment to finish his tea, waving off Cathy’s offer for another cup.

“They were together for four years, and the relationship was abusive. Not physically, but emotionally, mentally. Quatre was the victim, wanting only to keep Heero happy. I’m not sure what caused it, but Quatre came home from work and found Heero in bed with another man. Quatre left. He called me and told me that he needed to return to L4. I went down to Earth and helped him return to space. It’s been two years since Quatre came back. And he is no better than when he was with Heero. He doesn’t eat properly, he barely sleeps. He is overworking himself, and I fear will only end with his body in the ground. He is wasting away, and refuses to ask for help. I am truly desperate Trowa. You know him as well, if not better than myself.”

Trowa picked up on the desperation, the fear. Rashid was petrified, and it came screaming through in the tone of his voice as he reached the end of his story. Trowa shared a long glance with Cathy, giving her a sad smile. She knew. They both knew. Trowa had to go, had to save Quatre, like he had done once for Trowa.

“How bad is it really, Rashid?” Cathy asked, her intuition howling that there was still more, that he wasn’t releasing all of the details.

With a sigh, Rashid pulled a phone from his pocket and tapped at the screen, before he turned it around to show them. An image of Quatre was there, though it wasn’t the boy that either Cathy or Trowa recalled. His face looked haunted, thinner than it should have been; under his eyes ringed with bags so dark they looked like he’d been punched in the face. Trowa could tell by the way his clothing hung that he was severely under-weight, by at least twenty pounds. Truthfully, Quatre looked like a strong wind could blow him over. Cathy threw a hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp.

“It’s bad. I don’t think he sleeps more than four hours at a time, and maybe eats once a day. Some days he’ll skip food entirely,” he admitted sadly.

“I’ll come Rashid. Quatre clearly needs someone. If you can provide me a place to stay on L4, I can devote my time to helping him,” Trowa said, voice calm, though his body radiated with tension.

Cathy didn’t object. Even she could see that Quatre needed someone. She was about to tell him to stay in touch, but he was up, packing a bag before she could even open her mouth to speak. He was efficient, his military precision necessary as he packed clothes and shoes, knowing he wouldn’t need much else.

“In the best interests of Master Quatre, I think it will be best if you stay in the guest bedroom at his apartment,” Rashid offered, handing over a card with an address and a phone number on it. “This is the address of Quatre’s building, with the land line number. The other number is mine, in case you cannot get ahold of Trowa,”

She appreciated his thoughtfulness, taking the card with slightly numb fingers. She wasn’t worried for Trowa’s safety, as much as she worried about both men’s mental stability. If Trowa was truly in love with the blonde, how would seeing him at his weakest point effect Trowa? Still, Trowa owed Quatre a debt, and it was time for Trowa to repay it.

“Quatre doesn’t know you’re here,” she stated.

Rashid shook his head in response. “He’s gone to L1 for a mission for Preventers. Nothing dangerous, just a business deal to gain information. But, my plan was to come here and return with Trowa before Quatre came back, so he could not shun the help.”

“Wise plan. Quatre’s too stubborn for his own good,” Trowa offered up, shouldering his bag like it weighed nothing.

Cathy went to him and hugged him tightly, making him promise to stay in contact with her while he was gone so she wouldn’t worry as much. He acquiesced quickly enough, and she hugged him again, kissing his cheek.

“Go save him Trowa. And maybe bring him for a visit,” she suggested with a smile. Something told her Trowa wouldn’t be returning to the circus, unless it was for a visit.

She hugged Rashid as well, thanking him for coming to Trowa and her, and informing them of what had happened. Neither of them had any clue what had gone on. Goodbyes said, Trowa followed Rashid outside into the night, not looking back as Cathy stood in the doorway of the trailer, watching them go, hoping with all of her being that Trowa was able to save Quatre’s life.


	3. Chapter 3

Traveling always made him tired. Leaning heavily on the door to his apartment, he fumbled in his pocket for his keys, missing the lock the first time. Swearing at himself, he focused his vision on slipping the key into the hole, twisting it then turning the handle, pulling his body off the door at the last moment, so he wouldn’t tumble face-first into the apartment. Shuffling in, he dropped his bag just inside the door and kicked off his shoes, closing and locking the door. Home. It was nice to be back, to not have to watch his back, or every word he said. He was about to step forward with the intent of getting himself a drink when he froze. His apartment didn’t have its usual stillness. There was a low hum of energy that said there was someone else in the apartment with him. Quatre didn’t carry a gun, but he was proficient in hand to hand, if it came down to it. Pressing his back to the wall, he walked forward on the balls of his feet, the carpet muting his steps. At the corner, where the hallway met the living room, he poked his head around the corner, seeing a person sitting on his couch. A person, who had a very familiar silhouette.

“Trowa?!” He asked, shock coloring his voice.

Leaning over, Trowa flicked on the lamp next to him, giving Quatre a small smile. 

“The one and only.”

“I… It’s nice to see you? But I don’t know why you’re here, skulking around my apartment when I’m not home?”

Sitting forward, Trowa rested his elbows on his knees, fingers interlaced. Tipping his head up, he looked at Quatre through the fall of his hair. Really looked at him. From his thinning face, to the bags that looked like permanent bruises under his eyes. The way he held himself, like he was both courageous and frightened at the same time. The fact that his clothing didn’t fit him properly. All in all, Quatre looked like his life was in shambles.

“Don’t get mad Quatre. Rashid sought me out, to help you. And, it looks like he came to me in a nick of time,” Trowa responded, his own voice sounding so defeated. “I’ve been a pitiful friend Quatre, and I’m sorry for that.”

Those words may have been a slight manipulation, but Trowa knew Quatre so well. They’d spent so much time together that they could play one another like a tennis match. But it worked, and Quatre came right to him, sitting on the couch next to him, their thighs touching. Part of Trowa thrilled at the contact, something in his base brain. But the circumstances weren’t ideal. One of the blonde’s slim hands covered Trowa’s own hands, Quatre ducking his head slightly so he could meet Trowa’s emerald gaze.

“How on Earth have you been a bad friend?”

“I haven’t been here for you. In any capacity. I never… Never knew about you and Heero. I would have told you I was glad you were happy. And, I’d have been here the moment I knew what had happened, to help you through it. Not two years later, when you’re still struggling,” Trowa admitted helplessly.

He felt Quatre tense slightly beside him. He didn’t know what had caused the sudden change, but he wasn’t going to let it slip away.

“If I’d been here for you like a friend, I’d have gone after Heero for hurting you,” he said softly, honestly.

Quatre let out a chuckle that was tinged with sadness, and shook his head.

“I wouldn’t have let you go after him. He’s tried to kill himself how many times and it hasn’t worked?”

They shared a chuckle and a laugh, Quatre leaning heavily on Trowa, jet lag finally settling into his bones, making him wearier. As much as Trowa wanted to press his advantage, knowing that Quatre was mentally weak with exhaustion, he knew that eventually, it would have the opposite reaction.

“I’m here for the long haul Quat. I’m not going away any time soon.”

Nodding against Trowa’s shoulder, Quatre could only agree. He was too exhausted to put up a fight. He’d yell at them tomorrow, when he had more energy. Allah, he was so tired he didn’t even want to get up and move to his bed to sleep. It was like a switch was flicked. Knowing Trowa was here, and that he was being looked out for, it made him sag, and his body gave up the fight on being conscious. He was out within moments, cheek smooshed to Trowa’s shoulder, his hand still gripping the brunette’s. Trowa gave him a smile and carefully leaned them both backwards until his back was against the couch. As much as he wanted to move Quatre to his bed, he worried that being jostled from his position would wake the smaller man. He wanted Quatre to sleep, so they could formulate a plan of attack in the morning.

 

The first thing that he noticed was the horrible twinge in his neck that told him he’d fallen asleep in an awkward position. He winced and let out a small groan, his eyes fluttering open to try and figure out how he’d aid out in order to give himself such a pain. As soon as his eyes fully opened, and the sleep was purged from them so he could see, he gasped. Part of him thought that last night had been a dream. Coming home, finding Trowa on his couch. But it hadn’t been a dream. Trowa was here, on his couch, head resting on the back of it, asleep as casual as you please, Quatre’s head hoovering near his shoulder.

It explained why he’d slept so soundly. And for so long. He’d gotten back late from the colony, and the drive had been a bit of a blur. Of course he remembered dropping his bag when he realized he wasn’t alone in his apartment. And, he could recall talking to Trowa. The specifics eluded him in that moment, but it didn’t matter. Trowa had come, for him. It made him think back to when he’d searched for Trowa after the mishap with the ZERO system. It warmed his heart to see that Trowa cared for him on some level. Cared for him enough to take time away from the circus to come see him. Quatre didn’t know for how long, but he’d enjoy every moment of it.

“You’re thinking too loudly,” Trowa said, voice thick with sleep.

He didn’t move his head, but he managed to open his eyes and look down at Quatre as he said it, his limbs practically vibrating as he stretched them out, fingers gently disengaging from Quatre’s hand and flexing.

“I’ll keep them quiet next time so I don’t wake you up then,” Quatre replied back, carefully moving back to his own cushion so he could stretch, slowly rotating his neck in an effort to work out the pain. “If you’d told me you were coming, I’d have cleared some time out of my work schedule.”

It was late morning, pushing into early afternoon. He didn’t have any meetings today, but there was work to be done. He’d been away for three days, so there would be a backlog… The meetings would probably be the next day, if he remembered correctly. Still, he got off the couch, heading for his room, intent on changing into a suit so he could head into the office. Trowa watched him, frowning slightly.

“I wouldn’t worry about changing. Or going into work for a little while,” Trowa said, leaning against the door frame leading into Quatre’s room, emerald eyes watching the way Quatred walked, how he held himself.

Quatre had stripped off his shirt and stood there bare chested, his new shirt in his hands, an eyebrow cocked upwards in a questioning gesture. Trowa wanted to shake his head, wrap the other man into a blanket and keep him safe from the outside world. It was one thing to see that he was thin and practically wasting away from the clothes he was wearing. But it was entirely something else to see it in the flesh. He wasn’t skin and bones, but it was a close thing. Quatre’s skin was even paler than usual, and when he moved in a certain way, Trowa could see ridges where his bones were too close to the surface.

“Rashid and I are concerned. He’s shifted your schedule around, so you can work from home for the time being, to try and recuperate. You’re slowly killing yourself Quatre,” he offered up, keeping his voice gentle.

He wasn’t wrong to keep his tone gentle. Even with it, Quatre reacted, anger boiling to the surface, his face contorting into a snarl.

“How dare the pair of you! How dare either you or him think such a thing. I’m helping people, trying to help put the world to rights!”

“At your own expense Quatre! You’re too thin. When was the last time you slept more than four hours? The last time you worked out? The last time you allowed yourself to touch or trust another human being like you trusted me last night?”

“I can do what I want Trowa. I’m an adult, quite capable of making my own decisions.” Quatre snapped back, fingers curling into fists as he stood there, almost unable to believe that this was happening, with Trowa of all people.

Frustrated with Quatre’s lack of insight to the situation, Trowa stalked forward, intent on proving a point to the other man. His hand shot out and grabbed Quatre’s wrist, pulling the blonde’s arm up and backwards, exerting pressure onto his shoulder blade, only stopping when he felt Quatre make a face at the pain.

“I’m not even using all my strength Quatre. You’ve broken free of this kind of hold before. Prove to me that you’re taking care of yourself,” Trowa said, voice serious, challenging.

Quatre stilled himself, taking even breaths in through his nose, allowing himself a moment to think, before he lashed out, one of his legs shooting around to knock at one of Trowa’s legs, catching him off balance. They went down, Trowa keeping Quatre on top of him, so Quatre didn’t hit the floor directly, the blonde’s arm still pinned between them, Trowa’s fingers a gentle grip on his wrist. Quatre paused for a moment after they landed before he pulled his free arm forward and jammed backwards, shoving his elbow backwards, angling for Trowa’s abdomen. He connected, and Trowa barely flinched.

“You just hit me with all your strength, and I barely felt it,” Trowa said sharply, carefully rolling Quatre so he was mostly on the floor, releasing the hold he had on the blonde’s arm.

Quatre scrambled up and away from him, bare chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

“Fuck you Trowa. Just… Get out. You proved your point, that I’m weak.”

“I want you to not be weak any more Quatre. I want you to be strong. Strong like you were during the war, and after. Before Heero broke you,” he said quietly, voice cracking slightly with emotion.

He was well and truly worried for Quatre. Besides the weight loss and lack of sleep, the blonde was just… He looked so broken. Looked so lost, like a body without a soul. All he wanted was to see that spark, that light that had first drawn him to Quatre. The fire that Quatre had burning in his eyes and soul, that spoke of how truly gifted and beautiful he was.

“I want to bring back the Quatre that Heero tried to kill.” Trowa said, rising to stand, moving towards the other man, hands hovering just above his shoulders.

Turning to face Trowa, Quatre hung his head slightly, shoulders shaking from Trowa’s words. He could feel how much conviction was in them. How much Trowa truly cared, and wanted to help. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself to feel from another person. Heero had always felt cold, dark. Quatre had turned his gift inside, had shut himself off from everyone. And to just let go and feel? To feel something and know it was true? It warmed Quatre right down to his core. He’d forgotten how it felt to have someone near who truly cared for him.

“He’s still in there Quatre. He just needs the right person to bring him out.”

Quatre was crying, tears rolling softly down his cheeks as he buried his face in Trowa’s chest, fingers clutching at the fabric of the other man’s shirt. Trowa hugged him, arms locked behind Quatre’s back, pulling him close, their bodies connected from hip to chest. He let Quatre cry it out, let the built-up frustration come out. It was almost cathartic, in a way. Yes, Quatre had cried when things with Heero had ended. And, he’d cried for things he’d lost over the time he’d been broken up with Heero. But this was different. It was for himself.

Trowa didn’t know how long they stood there, Quatre crying into his chest. Eventually the tears stopped, and it was just Quatre taking comfort from being held, from someone who cared about him. He wasn’t going to look that deeply at it right now, but he and Trowa had always shared something deeper than he could explain. If it was love or just that sense of family, he didn’t know. But he wasn’t going to shun it, not when he was desperate for affection. Pulling his head up, he flashed Trowa a tired but sorry smile, wiping at his face.

“I assume that you have a plan?” Quatre asked, throat raw from crying.

“Rashid and I do. But first, I think a shower for you, and something to eat. Go shower, and I’ll make something for lunch.” Trowa said, gesturing Quatre towards the shower, turning for the kitchen.

Quatre didn’t languish for long in the shower, cleaning himself up, scrubbing away the grime that always seemed to come with travel. He changed into a pair of jeans and a comfortable shirt, draping the towel over his neck to keep the worst of the water off his shirt while his hair dried. He headed into the kitchen where Trowa was laying out sandwiches with coffee.

“Bless your heart Trowa for making coffee,” he said, snatching one of the mugs up and taking a long sip of the scalding liquid, uncaring that he burnt his tongue on it.

Chuckling, Trowa sat down and started eating, Quatre following suit once he had half a cup of coffee in him. He picked at his food, but did eat. He pulled the sandwich apart, eating the bits he felt like, until he was full. Admittedly, it wasn’t as much as he could have eaten, but it was something.

“Rashid has more on the business plan. But he has ideas that make sense. You can discuss it with him later if you want. He is allowing you to do some work from home. As far as the company knows, you’re on vacation, after all your recent peace work.”

“What a lie. If I was on vacation, I’d be lying by a pool with someone feeding me grapes and fanning my mostly naked body,” Quatre shot back, almost surprised at his own words.

They both shared a laugh, and Quatre leaned back in his seat, sipping at the rest of his coffee. Trowa kept silent, letting Quatre digest, letting them both mentally prepare for what was going to come next.

“I know you have an aversion to routine. But, it’s going to be the best way to get your mind and body back on track. Before you object, a loose routine. One that you can change as it suits your needs at any given time.”

Indeed, Quatre had been about to say something. He didn’t want to lose himself into a monotony that had landed him in this situation in the first place.

“Diet and exercise are also on the list of things. Those will fall into place with your new routine. If I have to, I’ll talk to Sally and get you a monitor that she and I can see, that will tell us when you’re not eating or sleeping properly.”

“Like she just has one laying around, waiting for me?”

“She’d make one in an instant if she knew how bad the situation was Quatre.”

He hid himself behind his coffee mug, sighing heavily in response. Truly, he didn’t want to have to dive into a routine to do things, to live his life. He’d had enough of it with Heero. However, with Trowa there to help, he hoped that he wouldn’t lose his sense of self. Trowa knew him almost as well as he knew his old self… There was hope.

“I’m here for the long haul Quat. Think of me as your personal assistant, until you can manage things on your own.”


	4. Chapter 4

Long haul was one way to describe it. It had taken them almost a week to finally agree on a flexible schedule that worked for Quatre, and didn’t make him want to tear his hair out. Trowa was unable to be swayed on certain points, like meal times and sleep. Those were so firm, they’d actually gotten into an argument about them, and Quatre had gone into his office and slammed the door, sulking for several hours, until the grumbling of his stomach forced him to leave the safety of the room. Trowa didn’t say anything as he handed over a plate of food and they ate in silence. When Quatre had eaten his fill, he sighed and put his head into his hands.

“I’m sorry for being so petulant about all of this.”

Trowa simply accepted the apology, and after the dishes were done, they went back to the couch and right back into the trenches of working out Quatre’s schedule. Their persistence paid off eventually, and Quatre was pleased with it. Up at six, again, out the door by eight. Lunch had to happen between eleven and two, depending on if he was traveling, or his meetings for the day. Dinner between five and eight, again depending on his schedule. Working out could either fall in the morning, or the evening, whichever he wanted. Bed by midnight the latest. It was so… It was deceptively simple, if either of them were to be honest.

Still, Quatre was grateful to have something that he could manipulate, depending on his day. It was infinitely better than being told exactly when and where things would happen. He wasn’t eating as much as he used to, but Trowa was adamant about packing protein into what he did eat, so he could keep his energy up, and so he wouldn’t lose the muscle he was slowly gaining back. 

True to his word, Trowa was in it for the long haul. It had been two months, and he hadn’t left. He worked out with Quatre, ate with him when he was home. They did things together, from watching tv late at night, or Trowa stretching himself limber while Quatre read reports or other things from work. They would go out to dinner together, heads bowed close when they didn’t want to risk being overheard, or when one of them had to share something in the middle of a crowded movie theater while the move was playing. It was relaxing, it made Quatre feel whole, being able to go out and be normal; to be spontaneous, like he used to be. He wasn’t perfect, but he’d been patched together into a new form, with new pieces to help hold the old ones into place.  
His only issue was sleep. Yes, he’d improved physically, and in most areas mentally. But sleep was still hard for him to come by. He’d lay in bed for hours sometimes, too frightened of nightmares to sleep for more than a few hours. Trowa was concerned, because the dark circles weren’t going away. Quatre flat out refused to take any sleep medication. He didn’t want to have a crutch, especially one that had so many possible side effects, and that carried a high rate of addiction. No, he’d do whatever he could to avoid that road.

Trowa tried herbal teas and warm milk. They tried white noise machines and sleep masks, and music to try and calm his mind. They tried vitamin supplements to stimulate the effects of sedatives. Quatre had just about given up hope that anything would work. So, there he was, sitting on the couch in a well-worn black t-shirt and a pair of blue sweat pants, clutching a pillow in his lap, mindlessly staring at a movie on the tv. It was how Trowa found him when he got up to get a glass of water. Concerned, he sat on the couch next to Quatre, not saying anything. If he waited long enough, he was sure that the blonde would say something first.

“I think I know what my problem is,” he finally said after a long pause, eyes never darting away from the screen.

He wanted to ask, but he waited. Sometimes though, it was better to just let Quatre go on his own. Let him talk and disclose things when he was ready. Even if it took a while. Fortunately, Trowa had more than enough patience.

“I went from sleeping with a person in bed beside me every night to alone. My body… Something inside of me doesn’t know how to transition to being alone again. Honestly, I don’t know if I ever will. Besides, too many hours of sleep are overrated anyway,” he said with a dry chuckle.

Trowa had thought about the possibility. Had considered it, but he didn’t have the faintest idea how he could help, or what could be done.

“I think with more time, it could happen,” he offered up with a shrug.

“Trowa, it’s been over two years since it happened, and I haven’t gotten any better. It’s not going to change.

“How many months has it been since we put you on this plan? Can you give it more time? You weren’t taking care of yourself for two years. So of course, in only two months it won’t seem like it’s not working. I know you don’t want to try medication, but at some point, it might be the only option.”

Quatre went still, his body humming with emotion. He wanted to say something, felt it boiling just under the surface of his mind. Perhaps Trowa was right. Would it kill him to try? Would it ruin him to at least attempt the medication? Maybe not a strong one?

“I’ll give it more time,” he finally said, leaning back against the couch, hugging his pillow tightly to his chest, like it could ward off everything he didn’t want to deal with.

Sighing softly, Trowa leaned back as well, his chest bare, legs only in black sleep pants as he folded them up underneath himself to sit, eyes shifting to Quatre to stare at him. They’d grown close over the last two months. Close like they’d been during the war. Sometimes it was like they had their own system, operating without the need for verbal communication as they moved around in the kitchen, or in the apartment. Seeing Quatre at his most vulnerable made Trowa see just how human the other man was. It humbled and awed him. Despite Quatre being almost at rock bottom, he never lost all of his inherent light. He still did his best to help others, to try to not be a burden. But, he also relied on Trowa, or Rashid when he absolutely needed to. It was comforting to see Quatre finally asking for help. Finally being more human.

They stayed like that, Trowa’s knee touching Quatre’s thigh, both of them staring, unseeing at the screen, lost in their own thoughts. Quatre couldn’t believe Trowa had been here this long. That he hadn’t given up or thrown in the towel and just left the blonde to his own devices. They both knew that Quatre wasn’t an easy patient. In being alone with Trowa so often, and sometimes in intimate settings, he had to wonder what the feelings in the pit of his stomach were. Was it just deep brotherly affection for Trowa helping him? Or was it even deeper? Could it be love? Love formed early then buried, only to be unearthed in Quatre’s darkest hour to help save him? Once, he’d have thought he couldn’t have a life without Heero in it. That dream had shattered like the finest crystal on a marble floor. Now though, Quatre couldn’t seem to think of a life that didn’t involve Trowa. He was doomed.

They sat on the couch, just mindlessly staring, until Quatre felt himself starting to get tired. It always seemed to take so long for him to want to sleep, no matter how busy or exhausting his day was. He wanted to lay out on the couch. It wasn’t the best place to fall asleep, but he didn’t want to risk walking back to his bedroom and lose the feeling of sleep. It had happened far too many times when he’d been at his desk working on paperwork until his head was drooping and he was barely conscious. He’d get up, walk to his room and crawl under his blankets, and be instantly alert, like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over him. Then he’d lay in bed and toss and turn for another hour or more, until his body eventually gave in and accepted sleep.

Uncaring, he tossed the pillow into Trowa’s lap and followed it down, his head resting in the other man’s lap. Trowa shifted his legs out from underneath himself and adjusted the pillow so it wasn’t uncomfortable on himself, while Quatre shifted onto his side, facing the tv, one hand going under his head. He lost track of time, unaware that he was slipping into sleep until he felt his head being moved around. Sleep had its hold on him, and his eyes didn’t want to open. He knew he was safe, knew that Trowa had his back, and wouldn’t let anything happen to him.

 

Slowly, like Trowa had said, things became easier. He started to sleep a bit more every week, Trowa’s determination that a new schedule and time to adjust was all he needed. Of course, Trowa was right about it. Thankfully the brunette wasn’t smug about it, which Quatre was eternally grateful for. There were still nights that he sometimes couldn’t sleep, and would move to the couch. With his almost preternatural senses, Trowa would join him almost shortly after, to keep him company. No matter what day of the week, they’d end up with Quatre’s head in Trowa’s lap until he was asleep. Some days Trowa would leave him on the couch, cover him with a blanket and let him sleep. Other days Quatre would wake up in his bed, tucked under his blankets, like a caterpillar in its cocoon.

The longer they stayed together in their bubble of companionship, the deeper the feelings they’d both buried burrowed. Quatre found himself texting Trowa throughout the day, wanting to know what the other man was up to, how he was doing, or what he was occupying himself with while Quatre was at work. He found himself taking extra days off of work around the weekends now and then, so they could take a WEI shuttle just so Trowa could visit Cathy now and then. To anyone on the outside, it was almost domestic bliss. Both men would deny it, would say it was Trowa just making sure his plans stuck, that Quatre wouldn’t lapse if he left. Neither of them wanted to acknowledge what was being nurtured as the months progressed. It was a slow simmering pot that just needed the right amount of heat to boil over.


	5. Chapter 5

Like all good things, there had to be something to ruin. No good could survive that long without something without bringing about the negative. Quatre was alone when it happened. Trowa had gone out for a walk, just to get out of the apartment, so Quatre didn’t know when to expect him back. He was flipping through his mail when his eyes came to a thick off white envelope. It was addressed to him, in a scrawling cursive font, with no return address. Arching an eyebrow, he set everything else down and flipped the envelope over. It was sealed and very plain. Slipping a finger under a corner of the paper, he carefully ripped it open, folding the flap backwards. Inside was a thick card, and his heart clenched in his chest. It was beating rapidly, like a snare drum. His fingers were shaking as he slowly withdrew the cardstock. Aqua eyes roved over the flowing script, widening with each line he read. He dropped the card, fingers suddenly nerveless when he found what he’d feared when he first found the envelope. Sinking to the floor with his back against the counter, the invitation and envelope scattered on his kitchen floor, his face buried in his knees as sobs wracked his body.

It was how Trowa found him when he returned, rushing to kneel beside Quatre, giving him a slight shake by his shoulders, Emerald eyes searching aqua that were dulled, like they’d been when Trowa had first come to him almost a year ago. Blindly, his fingers scrambled along the floor until he found the card, one hand still on Quatre’s shoulders. His own eyes read over the words, and he crumpled the card in his fist, violently tossing it across the kitchen, away from them. Quatre may have been the better tactician, but Heero still had his skills. It was why he’d done this… Quatre was a public figure, and anyone could see that he’d gotten better in the past year. Heero thought to fire one last salvo at the blonde, to try and break him one last time, or for good. With a wedding invitation. The heartless bastard.

“Quatre… Don’t even think about it. He’s trying to exert his control over you one last time. Look at how far you’ve come. You Quatre, are your own man. You don’t rely on anything but yourself unless you need help.”

Quatre tipped his head up, eyes swollen and puffy, his nose slightly stuffed from how long he’d been sobbing. It couldn’t have been more than a half hour, though it felt like eternity. On one hand, though, it was good. In a way, it was Heero’s form of closure, so that Quatre could truly have closure. Three years of no contact at all had told the blonde all he needed to know. He didn’t matter to the cobalt-eyed man. Quatre hadn’t been anything to him, and now… Now Quatre had the truth, set in cardstock paper that Heero was long gone.

“See me Quatre… Just see me. Forget. Forget about Heero. Just see me,” Trowa begged, voice slightly higher than normal, laced with emotion.

Shifting to kneel in front of Quatre, Trowa tipped the blonde’s face up with one of his hands, staring into his eyes as hard as he could. They’d been living together for almost a year… Had been friends and comrades for so long. It only seemed natural for this to happen. For Trowa to be so busy watching over Quatre that he would fall further. That they both would. How many times had they gone out together or stayed home, just hanging out? How often did they seek one another out for company when they were home? At some point, Trowa had stopped thinking of his ‘job’ as a task he needed to do, and started thinking of it in another way. Dinner had taken on a second meaning. Had ceased being dinner to him, and started being more of a date. Their times cuddling on the couch to all hours of the morning left him with a burning sexual need, to touch and be touched by Quatre.

“Let me be your new life Quatre,” he whispered, his own eyes swimming with nervousness, hoping he wasn’t making the gravest mistake of his life.

He didn’t know what to say. He was so confused, so distraught. Yes, the invitation had caught him off guard in the worst way. But, did he…? Trowa had always been there for him, in the past and now. Hadn’t been cruel to him, had cared for him far better than almost anyone else in his life. Didn’t Trowa deserve to be happy? To feel love, like Quatre had once thought he’d had? Maybe they deserved a chance to try and be happy together…

“Can we go slow?” He responded, after what felt like an eternity to Trowa.

Letting out the breath he’d been holding, he nodded, pulling Quatre up to him, hugging him tightly to his chest. His fingers carded through Quatre’s hair, fingers tangling slightly in the fine strands.

“I won’t push you Quat. Only what you want,” he said, smiling despite the nerves he felt building up in his chest.

“I think I want to lay down,” Quatre said, gently detaching himself from Trowa and standing up, legs a bit wobbly like a newborn foal.

Trowa backed away slightly and stood up, shedding his jacket and draping it over a chair, reaching to tangle with Quatre’s, his hand slightly encompassing the blonde’s. He led them through the apartment to Quatre’s bed, pulling the blonde down to lay with him, carefully spooning himself behind Quatre’s body, his nose buried in the smaller man’s hair. Trowa kept their fingers laced together, draped over Quatre’s side, both offering and giving comfort. He would do whatever he had to do. He wasn’t going to squander this chance at his happiness. He didn’t know how long they laid there together, just soaking up the feeling of one another, the idea of trying this out… But, they both savored every moment.

“We’re not going to let this ruin our friendship if this doesn’t work out, right?”

Quatre’s query was softly spoken into the deepening darkness of the room as night started to fall. Trowa placed the lightest of kisses to the top of Quatre’s head, squeezing him even tighter to him.

“Never. We’ve always been connected. Ever since you surrendered to me all those years ago, even when you had the advantage. We’ve been fated to orbit one another.”

“You’ve been watching too many soap operas, you’re picking up sappy lines from those horrid, so-called actors.”

“How dare you judge my entertainment. Maybe I should talk to this guy I know. He’s well known, sometimes controversial. Owns this billion-dollar company. I’m sure he’d be willing to give me some sort of job so I’m not stuck in this amazing apartment watching tv all day.” He shot right back.

Chuckling, Quatre gave their joined hands a brief squeeze. 

“I’m sure this guy will think on it over the week and let you know,” he said.

 

That was a turning point for the pair of them. They would still do things together, like dinner and movies. But, everything was tinged with a more intimate tone. Trowa would allow himself to touch Quatre a little more freely. From a brush of their hands to their hips bumping into contact when they walked, just a smidge too close. Quatre savored every touch, every extra bit of affection thrown to him by the other man. Trowa didn’t push. Didn’t ask for sex, or put pressure on Quatre for it. It made him feel happy, like this was real. That Trowa really wanted and cared for him, not just for pleasures of the flesh.

It appeared easy, but it wasn’t. Some nights, Trowa slept in bed with Quatre, holding him close, just letting himself get lost in the feeling of him. Yes, they were both men, and things… Well, no one could argue with biology. Neither of them said anything, but the flush of Quatre’s face when he would lean in to kiss Trowa’s cheek before he left for work, and the rigid resolve Trowa that kept Trowa still and not pulling the blonde back into bed spoke volumes. As soon as Quatre was out the door, Trowa was in the shower, tugging at his erection, Quatre’s name a litany from his lips as he came in pulses against the shower wall, watching the evidence of his arousal swirl down the drain. He wasn’t embarrassed by it, but he was still being careful. He truly didn’t want to rush Quatre, given the blonde’s past. He’d wait, as patient as a lioness stalking her prey. Trowa could do that. Even if it took forever.

 

Quatre’s resolve crumbled after two weeks. There was no explanation, it just… One day it was there, the next it was gone. It was a quiet Sunday morning. Quatre rolled over after stretching, feel better than he had in ages, grateful for finally getting a solid night sleep on a consistent basis. For once, he was up before Trowa, smiling to himself as he rolled over. Relishing the rarity of being up first, with Trowa still sleeping, he took his time to just look at him. 

When the brunette was asleep, he looked so different, so peaceful. His face was soft, free of worry and any other emotions that he chose to let come across. His hair was soft, fanning out on the pillow under him in different directions from the bit of moving he did in his sleep. In sleep, Trowa looked so perfect, like something he wanted to covet and lock away from the world so he didn’t have to share. Quatre’s fingers moved closer, hesitant and feather light as they pushed a strand of hair off Trowa’s face before brushing at his cheek. His eyes fluttered, and one of his hands came up to rest on Quatre’s hip, but he didn’t wake up. Pushing the blankets back a little, Quatre allowed himself to look his fill, aqua eyes roaming over the sculpted planes of his chest.

Oh, he was thankful that Trowa didn’t wear a shirt to sleep. Quatre could see everything, from the firm set of his shoulders, to the sweep of his collarbones. Down past his pectorals, along the dips and ridges of his abs, right to the jut of his hipbones where they vanished into the waistband of his sleep pants. Don’t even get him started on the corded muscles in Trowa’s arms, or the way they shifted when he moved. Quatre licked his lips and swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, the sound overly loud in the quiet of his room. His hand moved forward as if controlled by strings, moving towards one of Trowa’s arms when those enthralling eyes opened, blinking sleep from them.

“Morning Quat,” he whispered, voice heavy with sleep, a lazy smile on his lips.

Quatre didn’t know what it was that made his resolve shatter. But, whatever it was, he wasn’t going to fight it. Wriggling closer, he let his hand rest on Trowa’s chest, right above his heart, feeling each beat as an echo of his own pulse. Yawning, Trowa looked at him with a slightly quizzical look, wondering what exactly he was doing. With a smile that screamed both innocent and seductive, Quatre closed the gap between them and kissed Trowa softly, their lips meeting gently. Trowa’s eyes shot open in surprise as he laid there, but it didn’t take him long to get over it. He let out a soft moan, one of his hands coming up to rest on the side of Quatre’s neck, fingers brushing at his hair. Quatre pulled away after a moment, licking his lips. Trowa held his breath, almost nervous.

“I need you Trowa. I need to try again,” he breathed, leaning in to kiss him again.

This kiss was rougher, more passion-fueled, less uncertainty, as Quatre’s tongue licked at Trowa’s lips, asking for entrance. Trowa obliged and Quatre lay siege, licking at his mouth, teasing and tasting every crevice, memorizing the little sounds the brunette made. Quatre’s hand slid from Trowa’s heart down, nails lightly scraping at his tanned flesh, coming to rest on Trowa’s hip, hesitating for the barest of moments, as if he were still asking for permission. Trowa gave his permission by rolling over onto his back after breaking the kiss, flashing Quatre a barely nervous smile.

“I’m yours to do with as you please,” he purred, stretching his arms above his head before bringing them back down, one hand sliding down Quatre’s front, teasing him slightly.

Quatre pulled off his shirt and tossed it off the bed, unconcerned with where it landed. He’d put muscle back on, so he wasn’t as thin looking. He was fit, with muscle almost perfectly proportionate to his body frame. If it came down to it, he could hold his own in a fight against Trowa, unlike that first time. Trowa might win with his strength, but Quatre would put up one hell of a fight. 

Kneeling beside Trowa, he didn’t know where to start. So much skin to tease and taste… So many sounds to try and wring from his mouth and throat. Their first time didn’t have to be perfect, as much as his brain screamed that he needed to make it special. They’d have time to try again and again.

“Doesn’t have to be perfect. It’s already perfect because it’s you,” Trowa said, as if he were reading the blonde’s thoughts.

Cheeks heating at being caught, he pushed his pants off his hips, kicking them away. It would be easier to be naked now, rather than trying to do it in the heat of the moment. Naked, he moved so he was next to Trowa, leaning down to pepper kisses along the other man’s jaw and down his neck, laving his tongue at any spot that drew a moan or a gasp from him, probing to elicit more sounds. He worked his way down, over his collar bones, over each of his nipples, eyes rolled up to watch Trowa’s reactions. 

Trowa was lost in a haze of pleasure, fingers clutching at the pillow under his head, chest heaving as he simply laid there. He wanted Quatre to do what he wanted. To lead and kiss wherever his mouth took him. There would be plenty of other times for him to torment the blonde in the same way and learn all of his sensitive spots.

“Quatre…” He breathed out, one hand moving to cup the blonde’s cheek as he kissed his way across the jut of Trowa’s hips.

Quatre simply tugged at the waistband of the pants and Trowa lifted his hips up, giving Quatre the chance to peel them off and drop them onto the floor. He let out a little gasp, finally getting to see Trowa naked for the first time, and oh he was splendid. Trowa was all muscle, from neck to toe, and it was heavenly. He’d grown since the wars, and his muscle had filled out to match him. Of course, Quatre was also a little biased once he finally got to see what Trowa’s painted on jeans of the past had both hidden and shown. His cock was nicely thick and hard, his pubic hair trimmed neatly around the base. Licking his lips, Quatre was about to dive in when a thought crossed his mind.

“Drawer of the nightstand,” he whispered, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Trowa’s inner thigh.

Fumbling blindly, he yanked the drawer open more forcefully than necessary, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Quatre had situated himself between his legs, pressing kisses all over his thighs and hips, teasing around the place he desperately wanted that sinful looking mouth to be. His hand groped around until he found a small bottle, pulling it out with a relieved sigh. He struggled to open the plastic seal, bringing the bottle to his mouth and tearing at it so he could finish the job with shaking fingers, all while Quatre kept teasing him, adding in feather-light caresses along his inner thighs every now and then.

“You are a minx. You are not innocent at all,” Trowa gurgled out, handing over the bottle when it was finally open.

Quatre gave him a dark smile in return as his only warning. All Trowa could do was flex his hips, seeking more of the hot warmth as Quatre licked a long stripe up his erection from base to tip. He fisted his fingers in the sheets, panting hard as he watched Quatre, engraving every moment into his memory as it happened. The blonde kept licking, swirling across the tip, teasing the vein on the underside, getting Trowa’s cock wet before he leaned up on his knees, curling his lips over his teeth to suck the head of him into his mouth. Trowa let out a deep rumbling moan, his legs splaying apart wider, forcing himself to keep his hands in check.

With Trowa distracted for the moment, Quatre flicked the tube of lubricant open, drizzling some onto his fingers, rubbing them together to warm the viscous liquid up, slowly pressing his head down before pulling his mouth back up, eyes slipping closed as he lost himself in the motions and the moment. Gently, his fingers slid down, between Trowa’s legs to tease at his entrance, fingertips caressing at his entrance, letting the taller man’s body acclimate to what was going on.

It was inexorably slow. Quatre sucking gently on Trowa’s cock as he prepared him a finger at a time, working them in slowly. He opened his eyes, watching that chiseled face for any signs of pain or discomfort, using his mouth more if he sensed he was causing Trowa any kind of pain. The thrill he had, knowing that he’d reduced Trowa to nothing but sensation. Made him writhe and beg and moan, all because of what Quatre had done. It was a heady power. He carefully worked Trowa open with three fingers, carefully pulling Trowa to the edge of orgasm then dropping him back down, the raising him back up. Blissful torment was the only way to describe it. 

When he was sure that Trowa was prepared, he slowly withdrew his fingers and let Trowa’s cock slip from his mouth with a wet pop. Wiping his mouth with the back of his clean hand, he added more lube to his hand, carefully slicking it along his cock from root to tip. Leaning down, he kissed Trowa again, trying to climb inside his body via his mouth. Trowa kissed back, hands moving to hug Quatre closer, fingertips pressing into the soft flesh of his back. Quatre kept kissing him, even as he wormed himself closer to Trowa’s body, gently pressing the head of his cock against his partner’s hole. Trowa pulled away from the kiss just enough to gasp out, their lips teasing at one another as he spoke.

“Take me Quatre. Make me yours.”

Quatre was lost. Driving their mouths back together, he kissed Trowa like his life depended on it, while he started to cant his hips forward, slowly pressing his erection inside. Slowly and steadily filling Trowa until he bottomed out with a low moan. Pulling back from the kiss, he pressed their foreheads together, grateful that Trowa was so flexible. One of his legs was up and out, braced on Quatre’s shoulder, the other curled around Quatre’s hip, the heel of his foot pressing at the small of the blonde’s back.

It started off as slow rocking, just Quatre tilting forward, giving a bit of a grind at the end of the thrust, working them both up, ensuring that Trowa was open enough. It didn’t take long for Trowa to start gasping softly and begging in a hushed voice for more. He obliged Trowa with longer, harder strokes, angling to hit that spot deep inside. Once he found it, Quatre aimed for it each time, sending them both higher and higher, his own moans mingling with his lover. Time passed, and they both rocked towards their climaxes, Trowa coming with a low shout, his own fingers curled around his cock, helping bring himself to orgasm. Quatre lasted seconds longer, pressing in deep and letting out a sharp cry of delight, his eyes rolling back in his head as he let himself go, flooding Trowa with warmth.

When he was spent, he slid his arm out from Trowa’s leg, lowering it to the bed before he collapsed onto Trowa’s chest, uncaring of the sticky mess between them. He was content. Thrilled and happy to have chased away the last of his ghosts, and even more ecstatic that it was with someone who cared for him in a way that went deeper than family. It would take time for himself and Trowa to grow into a level of comfort that all long-term relationships had, but they’d get there. Yes, Quatre was happy. Happy that all of his suffering had been worth it to give him this moment.

“You know there’s still time in the day. I plan to repay you for that,” Trowa said with a sated smile, bringing Quatre closer for another kiss.

“I can’t wait. I can’t wait for you to know every place on my body, and all the ways that we can manipulate one another. No more ghosts.”

Nodding in agreement, Trowa reached for the blanket, pulling it over both of them, more than ready for a little nap, shifting a little as Quatre’s softened cock slipped from him. The mess would wait. There were extra sheets. It wasn’t every day that you got to sleep with someone you loved, and hoped for a bright future with. Trowa coming to Quatre’s aid had healed both of them, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.


End file.
